


Not Easy Being Me

by RunningOutsideTheLines



Series: Not Easy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Gryffindor Draco Malfoy, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19428082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningOutsideTheLines/pseuds/RunningOutsideTheLines
Summary: Draco is struggling to find a way to recover from the war with his life in shambles, his father in Azkaban, his house ransacked and the Magical government struggling to recover from the loss of so many major political figures that were caught up in the war.With the notice of the death of his Father, Draco abandons all hope of trying to fix the world he lives in and instead makes the final purchase necessary for his most extreme plan to go back in time and stop Voldemort before he destroys everything.Of course it all goes wrong.  Draco finds himself a child again, and the world of his childhood is unfolding vastly different than it did the first time around.Draco was trying to save his father, not kill him off early.  Suddenly defeating Voldemort doesn't sound quite so bad in face of the real problem.  How in Merlin's name is he going to tell his father he was sorted Gryffindor?





	1. The Search for Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by song prompt: 'It’s Not Easy Being Green' - The Muppets  
> The prompt for this story was Draco wishing to be sorted Gryffindor. This story did not go where anyone expected it to go, including me. The thought of what would cause the iconic Slytherin to be sorted Gryffindor was something that instantly fascinated me. Right on the heels of that idea was to wonder how his beloved father would react to such a sorting. I’m sure I failed to do either concept justice, but both were fun to play with. The most unexpected part of this was the relationship that developed between Harry, Ron and Draco, three boys so dissimilar in looks, background and personality. 20k of story later and two missed deadlines … well, I hope some of these themes come through.
> 
> This story is assuming you have read the books or at the very least seen the movies. If you have done neither or it’s been a while there may be some things that do not make sense and will not be explained. Please feel free to enjoy the story anyway.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy searches for a way to get his father out of Azkaban.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am re-posting this with some grammatical and tense changes but nothing major as I prepare to write the second half of this story. Hopefully it's a bit smoother to read, but if you have read it before you shouldn't see anything new.

The Ministry official ushered Chief Auror Potter and Granger, Head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, out of her office. Her eyes landed on Draco sitting in the waiting area and her uncomfortable surprise was evident. “Oh, Mr. Malfoy. Are you still here? I was sure my assistant told me you left.”

Draco did not believe that for a moment; she had forgotten he was out here. It was hardly an unusual occurrence in his life these days and the smile he pasted on was well-practised. “The papers?” he reminded her.

Her eyes glanced back to the other two as she shifted uncomfortably.

“Mz. Waterson, we really must …” Granger waived towards the hall with a quick, impatient gesture. 

The woman’s eyes flicked back and forth between the three people in her front office. Draco attempted to look hopefully earnest. Showing his irritation was the quickest way of getting the door slammed in his face. He had been sitting in this uncomfortable chair for over an hour in the hopes of having a moment of this woman’s time when Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had come storming in. He remembered a time when even the hint that he had wanted something caused people to fall all over themselves to accommodate him. Now, he made due with scraps of attention and was grateful for those when they came.

Something about his expression made an impact. “Just a moment …” she said, casting Potter and Granger an apologetic look before disappearing back inside her office. 

Hermione Granger huffed her impatience while Potter shot Draco a suspicious look. Draco carefully avoided eye contact. He could not afford an argument with Potter.

“Malfoy, what are you …” Potter started to demand but the reappearance of Mz. Waterson cut him off as she hurried up to Draco.

“You will have to fill this out yourself. I really don’t have the time to hand hold you.”

Draco leapt to his feet and grabbed the papers she thrust at him.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m sure I can manage,” Draco assured her, desperately hoping that she had given him the right form and not just whatever was handy to make him go away. Right form or not there was little chance of him getting any additional help from this department again today.

“Mz. Waterson,” Granger demanded waving at the door again.

“Yes, I’m coming,” and without a backward glance, the three of them were gone. Standing alone in the office, Draco took a moment to look down at the paperwork. ‘Wizengamot Docket Petition Form’, the paperwork proclaimed in large letters across the top and Draco let out a sigh of profound relief. 

It had taken him three days of wandering around the Ministry to find someone willing to tell him who was currently overseeing the Wizengamot’s agenda. He had argued his case with two different officials before he had gotten approval just to be allowed to fill out the form. All of that was before he ever arrived in this tiny little office with its’ horrid chairs and bad lighting. The daily rags were reporting regularly how it was so much harder to get anything from the Ministry since the ‘Exodus’ so Draco knew it was not just him, but that was something he tried hard not to think about. 

When Aurors had ransacked his home and thrown his father in Azkaban, many of the leading political families of Magical Britain, most of them Slytherin and all having a connection with the late Lord Voldemort, had found reasons to take themselves, their families, their money and most especially their magical family heirlooms to the Continent. 

The desertion of these families had caused even more families, many that had claimed no connection with Voldemort at all during the war, to leave. The Longbottoms, to everyone’s surprise, had been the first to pull out. The instability of the government caused by abandonment of so many high ranking witches and wizards impacted every level of society. The magical economy was down so much it was taking the muggle economy with it. Jobs were in short supply. Goods, especially magical ones, were harder and harder to come by. 

Those who had an option to go somewhere else packed up and left.

Draco knew it was not just him navigating the chaos that was the Magical government. His status as a Slytherin, his antagonistic relationship with Harry Potter, and the key role his family had played in kicking off the mass migration out of Great Britain, made his personal situation impossible.

Draco clasped the papers to his chest for a moment, allowing this small victory to buoy his spirits. Maybe not impossible. He wasn’t done, not by a long way, but he allowed himself a moment to just feel the hope of having made a step forward.

oOo

“Oh, Master Draco. You is home, sir.”

“Yes Teeley,” Draco agreed as always. The small house elf always met Draco in the Vestibule leading into the Main Hall. “How are the repairs?”

Draco was inured to the sight of the general chaos behind the small elf. The Aurors had literally cracked open the very stones of the hall in their search for black magic. Almost a year later the house elves were still trying to reassemble all the pieces. 

It was his mother’s request that the Main Hall be one of the first rooms repaired. Meant to be a show piece of old wizard wealth and power, it was the first room visitors saw on entering the manor and had always been one of the grandest rooms of the house. 

Draco had nodded along to his mother’s request as he packed her off to their French villa for an ‘extended’ stay and then promptly did as he pleased. There would be no one coming to see the Main Hall of Malfoy Manor, or any of the other rooms for that matter. Draco and the remaining house elves had been the only ones to step foot in the place since he had convinced Aunt Andromedia that England was currently no place to raise a little boy and sent her and Teddy off to live with his mother. Until recently, the repair work had focused on the working rooms of the house.

“The main flagstone for the crest is being completely gone, sir. We keeps trying, but it crumbles and crumbles. Not much left.”

Draco refused to look at the gaping hole where the Malfoy family crest had once sat, a marvelous design, it had been created with ancient flagstones by one of the greatest stonemasons of all time. A treasure in its own right, it had been destroyed in minutes. It hurts, but Draco has become well practised at letting ancient treasures go. “Use the regular stone to fill in the hole. Match the surrounding pattern.” 

“Yes master.” 

Teeley is staring at his chest. 

Draco caught sight of himself in one of the large mirrors lining the wall. He was clutching at the small pendant hidden beneath his shirt. It was as unconscious as it was comforting, a gesture Draco found himself doing more often these days. The sight of himself, standing there, was not a pleasant one. He looked tired, drawn, gaunt and thin, with shadows under his bloodshot eyes. He had lost another stone that he could ill afford to lose. His white-blond hair was in his eyes. He needed a haircut but there was no time to worry about it. 

After the arrest, Draco had been so careful to keep his hair short to emphasize the difference between himself and his father, but found it had not mattered in the end. Long hair or short, his physical similarities to his father just re-emphasized the prejudice that his name alone inspired. The name of Malfoy was no longer one to be held with pride. There was an air of despair that hung like a cloud around him. He could almost see it in the mirror, the weight of it pushing down on his shoulders.

He dropped his hand and cleared his throat. As embarrassing as it was to be caught seeking comfort from the necklace by his house elf, he was extremely grateful not to have fallen into that habit in front of Potter. That could have ended badly.

He cleared his throat again. “Was there something else you needed?” Draco asked, already moving off towards the stairs.

“No sir,” Teeley said, turning away, and then a moment later, “Oh sir. There is a notice come for you. Teeley is putting it in your father’s study.”

“Thank you Teeley,” Draco said, but Teeley was already gone.

Lucius Malfoy’s study was on the first floor next to the Master’s chambers and near the main staircase. Draco’s study was on the same floor but on the opposite side of the house above the library. For convenience, Draco now used his father’s study for official correspondence and to track legal matters. It was clean and meticulously organized. 

Upon entering Draco pulled his prize from his satchel and laid it down next to the scroll on the otherwise empty desk. 

The form he had acquired would petition for a spot on the Wizengamot docket to review Lucius Malfoy’s case. A year after his arrest, the public climate had changed and the bitter feelings towards all who could be associated with Lord Voldemort had softened some in the face of the new political crisis. There were some who felt that the fate of the Malfoys at the hands of those eager to show their allegiance to Potter and his new regime had been overly harsh. Whispers at all levels of society, that Draco had been helpfully nourishing, said that a more conciliatory approach might have prevented the worst of the migration out of England. After months of work the lawyers Draco had consulted agreed that if the case was revisited now they had a reasonable chance at concessions, maybe even a release for time served.

It was this hope, the refusal to abandon his father, that kept Draco in England and wandering the halls of the Ministry like one of the Hogwarts ghosts. He would not join his mother in France until he had exhausted every avenue. 

The thought of his most outrageous plan to free his father had Draco clutching at the small pendant beneath his shirt again. He quickly pushed the thought away, frustrated at his own lack of control. As long as there was the smallest hope his father could be freed through other means, that last plan would remain unexplored.

Draco dropped into his father’s chair and pulled out the quill and ink, preparing for several hours of deciphering legalise and filling out paperwork. His eye caught on the official looking scroll. Teeley had mentioned something, a notice had she said? Draco put down the quill and reached for it, a chill of foreboding shivering down his spine. 

It was a single page, high quality parchment, and the official seal of Azkaban. Draco’s heart dropped. There was only one reason Draco could think of that he would receive an official notice from Azkaban. 

The chill swept over him completely. His head went light and dizzy as he struggled to breath.

He had to open it, he knew he did. There was no other choice.

His fingers remained still. 

For this one moment he still did not know. Whatever was in that scroll was an unknown, a non-reality. How long could Draco live in this moment of not knowing? Would it change anything if he continued not to know? Could he hide away from the blow that was about to come forever? Was he strong enough to bear up under it when it fell?

His hands were shaking as he broke the seal and unwrapped the parchment.

“We regret to inform you …” The notice began and Draco knew.


	2. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The notice of Lucius Malfoy’s death breaks Draco in the way nothing else had. Now he must decide how to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposting with some additional polish in preparation for starting part two, but again, if you have read this before you should not see anything new.

The light from the candles, flickering low and muted in the deepest part of the night was barely enough to read by. Sightless eyes had been staring blankly at the single page laying on the desk for hours. Pale slender fingers were buried deep in his long hair, squeezed tight, the pain grounding him in reality, this existence, so much worse than a nightmare, something he could not wake from. 

The notice of Lucius Malfoy’s death broke Draco in a way nothing else had. He always thought he would have more time, time to fix things, time to talk, time to make it all work again, like it had when he was a child and everything his father said seemed so wise and well thought out and perfect. When time runs out, it should be with a big build-up so you can see it coming, can brace yourself for the impact. It shouldn’t be a single sheet of paper, a generic “We regret to inform you…” with few words and fewer details.

His father’s desk, his father’s office, his father’s house, Draco’s now, all of it. A tear slipped free. Everything around him reminded him of what had been lost. The proud man that had ruled his life, the light that had guided his every decision, his father was gone. The tear rolled off the end of his nose onto the page, smudging the lines of the crisp pitiless words. His guiding light had gone out, smothered deep in Azkaban. 

How did they get here? Draco wondered, his heart aching. He dropped his hands and leaned back into the chair, too tired to even hold himself up. The Malfoy name, once so well respected or at least feared, now inspired derision. The ancestral home, so carefully cared for over generations, now a wreck. This was his inheritance, this was what his father had left him. He didn’t want it.

Draco instincts screamed at him to run. He wanted out, away from all of it. He wanted to abandon all that had been important to the man who had left him so lost with no clear way to obtain the life he had been promised. Even more, he wanted to run back, back to the days when his dad was the center of his world. The tall, bright, powerful man that had ruled his childhood and promised him the world if he would simply follow in his footsteps. How did things go so wrong? Here he was, Master of Malfoy Manor, head of a ruined family, a ruined home, a ruined life. 

Just a few short hours ago he had been basking in the hope that this time he could win. He should have known better. Draco Malfoy never won. 

Time had run out, snatching away all hope of victory. Lucius Malfoy was gone, and with him all the air from Draco’s lungs … all the air from the whole world. Lucius had not been kind, but he had been strong. It was a strength that had buried deep into Draco’s skin and had driven every decision the young man had ever made. Draco’s one thought had always been “What would my father have me do?”

Rolling his head on his neck, Draco looked out the window into the darkness of night beyond the glass. The future was as bleak as the night beyond the window. Draco’s strength had always been his father. Where would he find his strength now?

Taking a deep shuddering breath, Draco wiped the moisture off his face. He looked around one final time. Lucius Malfoy had the office of a politician: clean, ostentatious, books on the shelves picked more for the way they looked and the prestige of the author than for their content. It was not comforting, but it had proven to be a good place to grieve. He quietly closed the door behind him, knowing he would not open it again.

Draco’s grey eyes were as vacant as his heart, seeing nothing of the hallways he moved through, walking more by feel than by sight in the home he knew as well as his own skin. His own study was smaller, but much more lived in. In contrast to his father’s, Draco’s private domain reflected the frenetic use of a scholar. Books tumbled from the shelves, piled on the floor, on the chair and half a dozen open and haphazardly strung across on his desk. There were papers scattered with his own looping handwritten notes everywhere. His handwriting graced the margins of most of the exposed pages, with scraps of paper and more notes stuck in the closed ones scattered about the room.

He sat in his own chair, much more comfortable than his father’s. He had pulled it from the attic one of his summers home from school, picked not for it’s stately appearance but because it was the most comfortable chair in the house. As he sank into the familiar surroundings, his mind cleared, even as the gaping wound in the center of his chest continued to bleed. Here, he allowed his mind to wander from the end of his world to what came next.

He could walk away, abandon the ransacked manor, his country and all the dreams that have turned to ash; he can join his mother in France and never look back. It was tempting. The chaos was not his fault, he did not create this mess and the magical community here had done little to make him feel obliged to fix things. He could turn his back on England, no reason to stay, and start over with his mother, his aunt, in a new country where being a Malfoy was not a thing to be ashamed of. In Europe he could re-establish the family’s reputation. He had the money and with time he could build a new network of mutually beneficial connections. It could be almost everything he had been working towards and came with only one regret.

The thought of his father, caused the tears to run down his face again. There was no one here to impress or hide from so he let them fall unchecked. 

Draco hesitated one moment, then two, before he pulled the necklace he wore around his neck out from beneath his shirt. The small interconnecting golden spheres flickered in the candle light. A small little trinket that lay simply in his palm.

This simple trinket represented another option, a dangerous and reckless option, one you would almost have to be a Gryfindor to consider. Draco couldn’t help the tug of a smile as he realized that Harry Potter would no doubt love his plan just for that reason. It was odd to be sitting here, on the eve of his father’s death, thinking of his long time rival. 

And then again, maybe it was not so strange. Harry Potter was a central figure in every part of Draco’s life, from the stories he had heard as a small child, to their rivalry as schoolmates, on the Quidditch pitch, in the classroom. Even his home had become all about Potter as Voldemort invaded and his obsession drove them all a bit mad. 

This moment too had Harry Potter circling around him. 

The chain came away with a quiet swish from the ancient artifact in his palm, as much an object of black magic as any the Malfoys had ever owned. Draco held it up to the light, studying it carefully. 

He had found the small magical item undisturbed, a lone item left behind in one of the ransacked family vaults. It was an oversight, a failure to understand what they were seeing. Whatever brainless moron had been in charge of checking had looked at it and seen only a Time Turner. 

Time Turners these days were not black magic and as such this one was left behind. But this was not a modern Time Turner, for all that it might resemble one at first glance. It was older, created back before there were rules on time magic, created with the blood of many of his ancestors, sacrifices both willing and not, to open the doors of the universe for perusal. This Time Turner was indeed the blackest of black magic. It had no limits, no lock on how far back in time one could go. With this, Draco could go back in time and set things right. It was an idea worthy of the great and impulsive Harry Potter himself.

Going back in time to fix things was never Draco’s first plan, or second, or even third. It was so far down the list that it wasn’t really anything he even expected to happen. He had slipped this last family heirloom onto a chain, then over his neck and under his shirt to wear more as a talisman that he would do whatever it took to free his father from Azkaban. 

On the long quiet evenings he spent going back over both wars he told himself he was simply interested in the history, that the knowledge was interesting but it would never be used to identify the time and place Lord “You Know Who’ would be at his most vulnerable. 

He tracked the Horcruxes one by one from the moment of their creation to their destruction at the hands of Potter and his friends but Draco never seriously considered that he would actually have to use this information. Surely one of his attempts to free his father would bear fruit. This was “just in case”, but a “just in case” he never really expected to use.

That he tracked down how to acquire a Basilisk Fang to destroy the Horcruxes, it was not because he intended to obtain one, he told himself. After all, the Fang was an item of Black Magic only available on the black market. There were so many people watching Draco’s every move that the fang would no sooner be in the house than Draco would find himself arrested and hauled off to join his father in Azkaban. No, Draco had never seriously considered going back in time to stop Voldemort.

But all other avenues were now closed. There was no future where his father existed. Only the past.

Now he has two choices, he could run and abandon his father, the Manor and all the wishes of his childhood to the past … or he could chase them down, going into the past after them.

Draco stared at the Time Turner, circles within circles, but all he could see was the letter. “We regret to inform you…”


	3. The Path Backwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco knows that time is tight from the minute the Basilisk fang arrives at the Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More polish in preparation for part 2. Nothing new if you have read this before. 
> 
> So ... spoiler alert. I am re-posting the whole thing. The final chapter is going to end in a new place so watch out for that, but the rest of the updates are just about fixing things I found when I was going back over it.

Draco spent the time waiting for the Basilisk fang to arrive in his study reading. But the wait was now over. 

His grey eyes dim with exhaustion and mourning flicked over the names of the authors printed on the books scattered across his desk. Gryffindor’s every one of them: Hermione Granger, Arthur Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, even Neville Longbottom’s words were represented here. Memoirs of the war, histories and details known only to a select few at the time, now could be purchased at every corner store for a galleon or two. Draco would have swallowed his pride and purchased books written by Harry Potter himself if the git had bothered to write anything.

The books stacked on the floor were another matter: Old Magical tomes, most of which described magic both dark and otherwise. All of them had some insight into the one topic that had consumed Draco’s mind for months: Horcruxes. If Draco still had connections at Hogwarts, or had he ever been able to call on McGonagall, Granger or even the Weasel for answers his search for information would have been a matter of hours. It was not that those bridges were burned, it was that they had never existed in the first place. 

Draco hands clenched at the thought, a stab of pain piercing the numb that was slowly consuming him. He did not want to be friends with those people, he had told himself time and again. Most of the time he even believed it. It did not matter. He’s wants were no more a consideration here than they had ever been. While they, the heroes of the second war, the bright lights of a crumbling world, had not come after him for the part he played in the last years, they had not wanted to be his friend either. 

It would be nice to have a friend, but anyone insane enough to claim that title was far away. It would be nice to have someone that could help him, that could share the burden of his task but that had never been an option in any of the tasks his father had assigned him. Lucius had taught his son that when something was important, he was to rely only on himself. Draco had taken that counsel to heart as he had done with everything his father said. 

Not that the advice had worked out for him particularly well. In sixth year, when so much had rested on his shoulders with fixing the cabinet and killing Dumbledore, the pressure to handle it alone had nearly broken him, leading to that humiliating scene in the girls bathroom with Potter. Draco’s hand rubbed at the scars that still criss-crossed his chest. 

Maybe it was the hollow grief at the loss of his father, but the memories of past struggles and encounters with Potter did not bring the wave of bitter anger they once had. Draco found himself wondering… just for a moment, if he told Potter what his plans were maybe … maybe he would understand. Perhaps if Potter was presented with the option that Draco had found, would he be willing to try to go back and fix things?

The small spark of hope died quickly under the crushing weight of reality. Harry Potter had rejected him from the first, there was no reason to believe anything had changed. All of this was just pointless speculation.

Draco sighed and scrubbed his free hand through his hair before his eyes flickered over to the other item on his desk and he reached for it, carefully… very carefully. 

It had come.

The Basilisk fang had been the single most expensive item Draco had ever purchased, not just for the rarity of the item, but also because of the necessary secrecy. It had arrived that very night, just hours before. The Aurors would have been notified of the purchase by now. For all the money Draco now had at his disposal, he could purchase only a delay in the report.

The clock was ticking.

Putting down the fang Draco picked up the last item he had prepared for his trip. The list he had been reworking earlier when the Fang had come. It was not complete, but the important part, the Horcrux list and the location for each item, was done. The last entry caught his gaze: Harry Potter. The man most singly responsible for bringing down the Dark Lord, had himself been one of the things keeping a part of the madman’s soul safe. The irony was not lost on Draco. How to destroy the Horcrux resting inside Potter without killing the man himself, it was one of the problems Draco had yet to find a solution for. Obvious there had been one. Harry had survived. But there was no note, no hint, nothing written by anyone of how that miraculous outcome had occurred.

It would keep. It would have to. 

Harry Potter survived killing the Dark Lord the first time, and as much as Draco and Potter had not gotten along, Draco would not be responsible for his death. He would find a way, but now he was out of time. Draco pocketed the list. He had enough to get started. He would find the rest of his answers along the way.

A flicker of something in the darkness beyond his window caught Draco’s eye. A tingle in the back of Draco’s mind, like circulation returning to a limb, alerted him to a possible breach in the wards of the manor. He moved to the window to get a better look, squinting his eyes against the dark. 

Movement in the night. Then shapes came into focus. 

Men, lots of them, poured into the manor courtyard. Draco didn’t need to see the badges sewn into the robes to know who they were, the shape of the one leading the charge was almost as familiar to him as his own. 

Potter was here and from the looks of it, half the Auror force was with him.

No! It was too soon. He was supposed to have more time. He was supposed to already be gone when they came.

For a moment Draco found himself in the past, as the Aurors swarmed the manor the first time, destroying all in their path. The urge to run overwhelmed Draco at the sight of the determined men storming his home once again. His only rational thought as he fled his sanctuary was to grab the Basilisk fang. 

He hit the grand staircase as the men burst through the front door. 

“Malfoy! Stop!” Potter’s commanding shout bit at his heels as he leapt up the stairs as quick as prey from the predator. The sound of pounding feet rang in his ears as he rabbeted down the halls. 

He was terrified, scrambling for an escape to the prison that was snapping closed around him. More men charged up the backstairs and Draco almost ended up on the ground as he fought to change directions, his long white-blond hair flying around his face, blinding him for critical seconds. 

Away! He must get away! His labored breathing worked like bellows forcing air into his screaming lungs as he pulled himself through the door, up the stairs to the attic. There had to be a way out. There HAD to be! 

“Malfoy!” Potter’s voice chased up the stairs after him, the man himself quick on his heels

There! A window, one he had slipped out of as a boy to sit on the roof and dream of flying. It wouldn’t open far, too old to move easily, but it was enough. Draco forced his head through the tight space, scraping skin off both sides of his face. His free hand grabbed at the roof and he dragged himself through the tiny opening. Never had he been so grateful for his tall slender build.

He scrambled across the roof on hands and knees until he got enough momentum to push himself to his feet without stopping. Now where? He looked down. There were men everywhere, surrounding the manor. There had to be an escape. 

Think Draco! Think!

Draco slid to a stop at the very edge of the roof. Still looking around frantically for a way to escape. His eyes were caught by the glimmer of gold against his chest. The time turner winked at him in the dim light of the spells lighting up his yard. He had it. The list was in his pocket and the fang in his other hand. Was it enough? Draco glanced over his shoulder. Potter was on the roof with him now, wand extended as he slowly approached along the eaves.

“Give it here, Malfoy,” Potter demanded, eyes flickering towards the fang. He had not seen it, Draco realized as his hand came up to grasp the Time Turner. There was no other way. It was now or never, Draco realized and took a deep steadying breath. His grip tightened on the fang as his fingers worked the turner by feel alone, a combination he had practiced often, hidden from Potter’s view by his own body. 

He held Potter’s angry green gaze, an expression he was achingly familiar with. For the first time Potter’s anger did not spark an answering rage. He was tired, heart-sick and scared but he could not shake the thought that if he had the chance to explain, perhaps Potter might approve. His own pains and loss so sharply felt draining away any temptation towards the confrontations that had so defined all their previous interactions.

Some of what he was feeling must have translated into his expression because Potter’s hard, rigid pose eased and his expression softened. “Malfoy?” Potter asked, questioning.

The desire to share this burden, this crazy plan that was his only chance, nearly choked him. Standing there on the roof, across from the man who had been his enemy from the first moment they met, Draco realized he did not want to be alone any more. He wanted help. He wanted a friend. “Potter,” Malfoy pleaded, turning to show him and for a moment it looked like Harry Potter was reaching back. 

The spell came from the ground, one of the Aurors below casting wildly. It caught him squarely in the chest as he turned. The Time Turner exploded under the magical force and the world around Draco disappeared in a shower of white sparks as he felt his body dissolve under the onslaught.


	4. Begin Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds himself suddenly reliving his first year at Hogwarts and scrambling to adjust his plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this was a long chapter hu? 
> 
> Re-posted with polish in preparation for the second part of this story. Nothing new to report. I would say move along but if you want to hang around here and read it again please feel free. :)
> 
> Just a side note, I found even more things I missed when I was putting the tags in place so I am not claiming that this is polished to perfection. As we say in the computer programming world, something is ready for public use where there are no KNOWN bugs. No one should ever be dumb enough to claim code is bug free.

The bell rang above the door in front of an extremely familiar looking shop and a small nervous looking boy in ragged clothes with bright green eyes stepped in. The room swam around Draco. 

“Oops, hang on dear. Feeling a bit light headed are we?” A kind voice asked as large hands helped steady him. Draco looked up at a woman that by all rights he should be looking down on.

“What..?” Draco stuttered, reeling in more ways than one.

“Sit here, dearie,” the witch helped lower Draco’s small body to sit on the stool he had been standing on. “I wouldn’t have reckoned you could get much paler than you already were, young man, but I woulda been wrong.”

“Miriam, go get young Master Malfoy here a glass of water.” It was Madam Malkin, but not as Draco had last seen her in Paris, war worn and lined with age; she was the smiling plump and happy woman from his youth. And even if Draco had not recognized her, there was no mistaking the young man she was helping onto a stool next to his. Harry Potter looked down at him, his young eyes filled, not with anger or even the confusion that he had seen across the roof of the Manor, but with bright curiosity.

Draco had made it, he was here in Madam Malkin’s shop. It was first year all over again, but instead of arriving as an adult, he was back as his childhood self. Panic came on the heels of that thought as he frantically patted his pockets, jumping to his feet to look around. They were gone! Both the list and the Basilisk fang, the keys to everything, and they were gone.

“Did you lose something, dearie?” Madam Malkin’s assistant, whose name Draco couldn’t remember, was coming back with the water. He slumped back down on the stool with a groan and buried his fingers in the short blond hair of his childhood. “Here, drink this.”

He took the cup and stared down at his small hands, child hands. This was a disaster. 

Another small hand, about the same size, reached into view and tentatively touched his. Draco looked up. It was Harry Potter, standing beside him, a look of almost hopeful camaraderie on his face. Draco could not quite wrap his mind around the reality of that. 

“Are you having a rough day?”

Draco wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. Instead he nodded. 

Harry plopped down on the floor at Draco’s feet, his face alight with excitement. “When I’m having a bad day, sometimes I imagine I have a friend, someone I can talk to.” 

Had Draco traveled to his own past or to some strange parallel universe? This was not how he remembered the Harry of his childhood, this kind boy with sad eyes.

“Don’t you have any friends, dearie,” the assistant asked.

Harry looked up at the woman and shook his small head and Draco almost scoffed. Of course Harry had friends. He had Ron and Hermione. He had Dumbledore and McGonagall. He had the whole world at his beck and call. Draco was the one with no one.

But that was the future. Who was Harry’s friend before that? Draco remembered something about a relative who had taken him in. It had not been important to his research and Draco had not put much thought into it, but he seemed to remember that it was said they were not very kind to Harry. Was it possible that this Harry was as alone as he was?

He could not have stopped himself from reaching out to his old rival any more than he could have stopped breathing. “You will,” Draco promised the young boy in front of him, thinking of all the people to come in Harry’s life.

Potter’s return smile was almost blinding. 

The bell over the front door rang again. Draco looked up and his whole world burst into blinding joy. “Draco, get off the floor,” Lucius Malfoy commanded and Draco had never been so happy to hear that strict voice in his life.

“Yes, father,” he said, bouncing to his feet. He wanted to run to him, to throw his arms around his father in an outburst of emotionalism so strong it nearly had Draco in tears. The sun shone brightly, pouring in the windows and lighting up Lucius Malfoy from behind, turning his hair into a halo of power. The strong and powerful man that had been the center of Draco’s life was alive and glaring at him. It was only the knowledge of how his father would react to any display of public affection that kept Draco routed to the spot.

Lucius gave Potter a suspicious look as he too scrambled to his feet. It was that look that brought Draco down from the bright feelings of joy, and unease began to trickle through him. Draco could see his father noticing the same things about the young man that he himself had noticed, messy hair and ragged unkempt clothes. A look of distaste settled on his father’s face. Draco’s unease grew. His father did not know, did not understand. He could not see the powerful strength that stood before him, perfectly hidden inside the small neglected boy.

Even worse, his father did not know what starting a confrontation here with this small child would eventually cost him, cost them both. While Draco knew he and Potter would never be friends, he was going to do his level best to make sure they did not become enemies. As Lucius Malfoy opened his mouth, Draco did something he had never done in the entirety of his life. He interrupted. “I am finished here,” Draco declared, not sure if it was true or not. “Shall we move on to Ollivanders?”

It was classic misdirection, pure Slytherin. The assistant opened her mouth to speak, no doubt to protest, but a sharp look from Lucius Malfoy had her snapping her jaw closed. “Very well,” Lucius said with a nod towards the door.

“See you at school, Harry,” Draco whispered, shooting him a smile, made bright by the relief at the crisis averted. Draco had succeeded in distracting his father away from Harry. It was a small success, but one that buoyed his hope for what was to come. 

It was not until Draco was half way down the street, struggling to adjust to his much shorter legs, trying to keep up with his father and contain the ridiculous smile that threatened to keep breaking out over his face, that it occurred to him that might have been the first time he had called his arch rival by his first name.

oOo

Seeing his mother as the young proud woman she once was hit him hard. This bright woman was so different from the mother he had last seen, lined by life, weighed down and struggling and yet as elegant and dignified as ever. To see her as she used to be was a painful reminder of how much she had lost when her husband was taken from her.

The good thing about being eleven years old was that no one expected a lot out of him. A raised eyebrow from his mother reminded him to pull his expression back under control. The spring in his step at walking next to his parents was written off as child’s natural exuberance. Despite everything that had gone wrong, it was impossible for Draco not to bask in the glory of this one success. Whatever it had cost him, he was standing next to his parents, both whole and complete once more.

The trick was how did he keep it that way?

Draco’s mind raced over his unexpected circumstances. Of all the scenarios he had considered for going back and changing the past, this was one he never considered; to be here as himself, a child, rather than as an observer free to move around at will, certainly complicated everything. Then, there was the lack of both his notes and the Basilisk fang that had cost him so much. The question of how to destroy the Horcruxes’ had been the most difficult to answer at home as an adult with all of the Malfoy resources at his disposal. To find an alternative as a child … this was not good.

He tumbled these things over in his mind as Ollivander thrust one wand after another into his hand. But he perked up when he saw his own Hawthorn wand pulled out of its box. There it was! He smiled, pleased at the site of it, and reached for it eagerly. He had expected the old thing to settle into his hand like the restoration of a missing limb. Instead, it felt alien and just as wrong as all the other wands the old man had thrust at him. It was a shock to his system.

“Nope,” Ollivander said, succinctly whipping it away.

Draco could not prevent the cry from leaving his mouth, “Wait!” he called, still reaching out. 

That was HIS wand! The wand that he had used to duel Harry, the one he had held in trembling fingers as he stared down Dumbledore on the Hogwarts tower. The wand he had used to repair the cabinet to let the Death Eaters in the castle. The wand Harry had stolen from him trying to escape the manor.

Another shock reverberated through him. All the most intense memories associated with his wand… were bad.

Ollivander, with his canny old eyes, came back with the wand, still in its box. “I had rather thought this one would be a match myself,” he said softly, as though he knew of Draco’s internal struggle. “But it did not choose you, young Master Malfoy, and the wand always chooses the wizard.”

Why would his wand not choose him? Had he changed? Was he really so different from the young man who had stood here, so many years in his own past?

“Draco,” Lucius said, “you may have whatever wand you wish. If you want this one, you need only say so.” His father’s voice was cool with an underlying threat that Draco understood as well as Ollivander did. Malfoy’s took what they wanted.

Ollivander bowed his head in acknowledgement. If Draco wanted the wand, he would not fight it. Draco looked back at the box that held the Hawthorn wand, unicorn hair core, ten inches. A part of him considered this wand as his own, but another part of him … did not want it back. 

As he acknowledged that for the first time, Draco remembered something about his first trip as an eleven year old boy to Ollivanders. It was a feeling that he remembered, something that tugged in the back of his mind, and settled on his heart. He remembered that when he had been presented that box the first time as his very own, he had been … disappointed.

“No,” Draco shook his head and dropped his hand that had still been hovering out towards his old wand. “No, it’s alright. I do not want it.”

His father simply nodded and turned away. Ollivander stood staring at him for several long moments, and then gave him a smile that was almost proud. “Very good,” he said softly, and then went back to digging through boxes.

Ollivander seemed to take forever before he came back and Draco found himself straining to remember what it was about his first wand that had caused him to be disappointed. The memory was old and fleeting and other than the certainty that he had been, the details fled from him. 

Then a new wand was placed in his hand, and a flare of magic and rightness and belonging flowed through him. 

“Ah,” Ollivander said, in satisfaction. “Cherry wood. Dragon heartstring core. Ten and a half inches. Reasonably pliant.” 

It was the last bit that sparked Draco’s memory. That was it! He remembered when Ollivander had said ‘Unicorn hair’ the first time and how his heart had sunk in his chest. He had not wanted a wand with Unicorn hair. He was Draco. He was a dragon and he had wanted a wand that reflected that. He had wanted a wand with a dragon heartstring core. The little boy he had once been giggled with excitement inside of him.

“Cherry wood,” his father said, derision evident in his voice. “That is a decorative wood, is it not?”

“Oh no,” Ollivander was quick to correct. “Not at all. A Cherry wood wand is often a truly lethal one and paired with a dragon heartstring, it can wield terrible power.”

The words visibly pleased his father but upset his mother. “Should such a wand be given to one so young?”

“Narcissa,” Lucius protested, but his mother shook her head firmly.

“No, Lucius. I will not have him hurt.”

Draco smiled up at his mother. As a child, he would have never dreamed of crossing her, any more than he would have his father. But the man who had sent his mother to France to protect her, who had never even informed her of her husband’s death, that man still existed in the eleven year old body. He would not allow his mother to deprive him of this, no matter her good intentions.

“Mother,” he said gently, “I always wanted a wand with a dragon heartstring core.” Then he turned back to Ollivander as though that was the end of the matter, another trick he had learned from his father. “How do I become it’s master?”

Ollivander folded himself down to look him in the eye. “A Cherry wood wand with a dragon heartstring takes a wielder of exceptional self-control and strength of mind to be its’ master.” he said, still searching Draco’s face. After another moment, he seemed to find what he was looking for because he gave a nod and stood up. “I believe this one has chosen well.”

oOo

Stepping back into the Manor of the past was an experience. Draco walked slowly across the ancient flagstones, perfectly preserved in the Main Hall. He could not control his smile. Walking into his office was another matter. It was a perfect reflection of everything that was wrong. Instead of the books and papers, artifacts and other trappings of a scholar, it was the office of a child. The fantasy books of his youth lined the wall, toys and games were spread across the floor. Posters of the latest brooms and Quidditch players lined the walls. It was everything a small boy could desire and nothing Draco needed.

He dropped down in the uncomfortable but stately chair his father had provided and carefully laid his new wand in its box on the side of the desk. Draco wondered at it, what it meant that his old wand had rejected him and that this wand had claimed him instead. 

There were no answers forthcoming. The use of Time Turners was carefully regulated for just this reason; it was impossible to tell what would cause a change. Things were already changed and Draco was not wise enough to know how these changes would impact the world. Was he about to make things worse? What was the alternative? He could not exactly go back, could he? 

In his carefully made plans, he structured his movements to limit contact outside of the specific things needed to achieve his goal of killing Voldemort. To come back as the child he had once been, with the knowledge of the adult he had grown into … that was not part of the plan at all. But what was there to do about it? The Time Turner from his own time was gone and even if he could get his hands on the one from the current time, what good would it do? He had never heard of a time turner regressing a user to a previous age. Could that be undone? On the heels of that thought came another unexpected one. Did he even want it to be?

Draco glanced back at the new wand, could not resist opening the lid and peering in at it. A spark of happiness raced through him. The unexpected pleasure he got from this one, this cherry wood with a dragon heartstring core wand, was undeniable. Was this sudden chance to relive his boyhood a bad thing? No one could call his years at Hogwarts a joy and the thought of reliving them should fill him with exhaustive dread. 

But did it? Did it really?

Maybe he could do things different this time around, make better friends, or at the very least, not burn so many bridges. The caution of elders, to leave the past alone, rang in his ears and yet... it was not like he could help it. He was a boy again. Would there be any harm in trying to do things better this time around?

Pushing aside the nonsense in his head Draco pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. Even if Draco did find a way to return to his own time and his own age, he had a job to do here. First things first. Picking up the quill, Draco started writing down everything he could remember from his original Horcrux list.

oOo

Draco had been looking for an opportunity to speak to his father about his association with Voldemort. Distracting his father from the fact Draco was currently breaking into the library vault in his search for Tom Riddle’s diary was not exactly the moment he had planned.

“Draco?” Lucius did not look amused.

Tom Riddle’s diary was hidden behind Draco’s back. At least the vault was closed. “I …. Uh … wanted to see if Alohomora would work on it.” Draco cringed. The truth was that the passcode for the library vault had not changed in centuries, but that was not information his eleven year old self would have. 

The cold disapproval on his father’s face eased some. “You are practicing. Good. I would recommend the third floor. There are some enchantments up there that should prove enlightening.”

It was a fight to keep from reacting. The house elves had taken over the servants quarters on the manors top floor and their magic did not respond well to intrusion. Draco had learned this the hard way more than once. No doubt Lucius meant to teach his son a lesson about poking around. 

He closed the outer door on the vault slowly as he considered his own plots. “It is good to be ready. If “You-Know-Who” returns I do not want to be caught unprepared.”

Lucius’ eyes narrowed. “He is dead. And even if he were alive, you have nothing to fear from that quarter.”

A cold feeling of dread settled in his heart with the knowledge that his father was wrong. It was a hard thing to accept, even as an adult. He had always seen his father as infallible. Draco slowly paced along the bookshelves, one hand skimming over the old tomes as the other stuffed the diary in his pocket. How to help his father see his error? “There are rumors,” he began.

“What would an eleven year old know of rumors?”

“Did you know Harry Potter will be in my class in Hogwarts?” Draco changed directions abruptly. “I met him in Diagon Alley last week. If Voldemort is alive, it is hard to imagine anyone at the school will be safe.”

Lucius waved off the comment. “You have nothing to worry about on that front. You are a Pureblood, a Malfoy. You will be fine.”

“The Potters were pure bloods.”

“They associated with Mudbloods and blood traitors. They made their choice and paid for it.” There was a time that would have been enough. But now Draco knew all too well how short sighted it was.

Draco looked his father in the eye. “What choice did Harry make?”

Lucius moved forward and put his hands on his son's shoulders. “You need not concern yourself. Focus on school, on being the best. You are a Malfoy. Make sure everyone knows exactly who you are.”

Where once such a statement would have caused his head to lift in pride, now all he could hear were future angry whispers of disdain. Still, he had to admit defeat, at least for now. He nodded his head even as he failed to meet his father's eyes. “Be careful father,” he could not help warning. “Men like Voldemort rarely limit their casualties to their enemies.”

There was no response.

oOo

Draco stood alone in the Hogwarts dining hall, waited his turn for the sorting hat. Last time he had been here Crabbe had been on one side and Goyle on the other. He had been almost as affected on seeing young Crabbe waiting for him in front of the train as he had been seeing his father for the first time. Crabbe and Goyle had never been what Draco had considered friends. They did what he told them to with little fuss and in return Draco had helped make sure they did not disgrace themselves and their families in their school performance. It was a mercenary arrangement, both parties benefiting and no emotion involved. Even so, the death of Crabbe had hit him hard. He had been Draco’s to care for, and he had failed. It was yet another painful failure in a long line, and one he was glad had unwound itself.

Despite his feelings for his two companions, Draco knew that this time he needed to be free to move about without them. He needed to be able to sneak in and out of the Slytherin dungeons regularly, first to track down the Vanishing Cabinet so he could move in and out of Hogwarts without interference and then to seek out the Horcruxes. Blaise had been as startled as Crabbe and Goyle when Draco had sidled up to him and passed them off. “You need to take care of them,” he had said.

Blaise had just shrugged. He was eleven, Draco reminded himself.

When news of Harry Potter’s presence on the train had come, Draco had simply shaken his head and let it go. Harry had friends to make, and Draco had no interest in reliving that confrontation again. His goal for Potter was to stay out of his way. Better indifference than animosity. Besides, he had other things to worry about. He was no further along figuring out how he was going to destroy the Horcruxes than he had been when he arrived. The other option besides the Basilisk fang was Fiendfyre, but he would almost rather go ask the Basilisk for his fang than face that again. The last memory of Crabbe’s face as he disappeared in the fire would always haunt him.

Draco had been herded with the rest of the first years into the boats behind Hagrid, but he could not help looking back, watching with trepidation as the trunks were hauled out of the train to make their own way to the castle. Hidden inside his own truck was Tom Riddle’s diary and his recreated list of Horcruxes with their location, as best he could remember.

He had found his magical strength had not diminished.despite his reacquired youth and his new wand was a joy to use. His body might be that of an eleven year old boy, but his magical core was that of the adult he had been. That had been an unexpected gift. He had modified the basic, if expensive, trunk his parents had given him, to have secret compartments that only he could access. They weren’t fool proof, but they would keep out the curious and in the Slytherin dungeons there was always someone willing to snoop.

The plan had been to destroy each Horcrux when he found them. To carry the journal about was dangerous, and bringing it HERE … this was not a good idea. That Ginny Weasley had once brought it into the castle without incident made Draco think it would not be discovered, and yet he could not help his unease as he watched the trunks float away. 

He fingered the pendant under his shirt. It’s not the Time Turner. That had disappeared like everything else when he had found himself in his eleven year old body. But the weight of it had been a comforting presence. He had found an old family snitch in a truck in the upper floors of the house when he went to reclaim his favorite chair for his office. It was about the same size and shape and he had taken to wearing it instead. It was a comforting presence as he watched and hoped.

The good news was that his magic was as strong as ever. Occasionally his spells were even stronger than he remembered, especially stasis and other time related spells, but that was probably just the new wand. Still these differences chased themselves around in his mind. 

Why was he different? What had changed?

Draco was mulling over these things as they were ushered into the Great Hall but all thoughts fled at the sight of Professor Quirrel and the knowledge of who else could be right there with him. He had seen Harry and Ron in the group ahead of him, and wanted to move right up next to them. Even as a scrawny eleven year old, Harry seemed to be an antidote against evil. He had beaten Voldemort before, Draco reminded himself, and the knowledge helped calm him.

The sorting ceremony began without incident. He did not mean to catch Harry’s eye as the students began to thin out between them but when he did he nodded his head in the slow careful way he often saw his father do to visiting dignitaries. Showing respect, without giving away any of his own power or position. Harry’s response nearly knocked him off the wall, a bright and happy smile and full wave. What in Merlin’s name was that about?

Weasley caught the exchange and his face reflected Draco’s own confusion. “What are you doing?!” Weasley whispered in a voice that carried across most of the hall. “That’s Draco Malfoy.”

Harry just shrugged. “He’s nice.”

“Nice?!” Weasley’s stunned voice echoed across the room and a look from McGonagall had the redhead pulling a face, indicating he had swallowed his tongue.

Draco was also reeling. What on earth could have gotten Harry Potter to call him nice? That Harry Potter hated Draco Malfoy was a forgone conclusion. Draco’s hope for casual indifference seemed the best he could possibly expect. The strange reality that suddenly Potter did not actually hate him, might even like him was as foreign as suddenly finding himself in a child's body, it was a re-ordering of the world in a way that just did not make sense.

Then his name was called. He shook off his confusion and moved to sit on the stool. Draco was still nervous about the journal being found and reeling from Harry’s unexpected behavior. His mind was not on the sorting, after all, he knew where he was going. The hat plopped down on his head and Draco was so lost in his own mind, so sure he knew what was coming that he did not even hear the pronouncement.

It was so quiet Draco could hear Hagrid breathing. Everyone was staring at him. His eyes widen as he rewinds the last few seconds. “Wait, what?!” he bellowed both internally and out loud.

_“You’re a Gryffindor.”_ The sassy old voice of the sorting hat spoke in his mind.

“I most certainly am not!” He bellowed back. “What is this nonsense! That’s not what you said last time! Do you just randomly choose whatever you want. I am a Slytherin. Malfoys have been Slytherins for generations! And even when we are not Slytherins we are certainly not Gryffindors!”

_“Ah yes,”_ the sorting hat seemed to purr, _“I can see you have done this before. Very interesting. But you are not the same person you were last time. You have a mission, a noble quest to save the world, and have already sacrificed so much to do it.”_

“I am not on a quest to save the world! I am on a quest to save my father," Draco denied. "And that quest will be for nothing if he dies of heart failure because you sorted me as **Gryffindor**!”

_“The ones who change the world are often looking only to change their small part of it. The leap of faith is the important part. Reckless abandonment of the safe path to rescue others... Oh yes, the best place for you is definitely Gryffindor.”_

“I am NOT reckless!”

Draco felt someone in front of him. He realized that he had scrunched closed his eyes as he argued with the stupid old hat. Opening them he found himself face to face with Albus Dumbledore. The old wizard's face looked like he remembered it from the last time Draco had seen him, before his fall, weathered and old but with a twinkle in his eye that even in his last moments could not be repressed.

“Draco, you have been sorted,” Dumbledore said, not unkindly.

Had anyone else been in front of him, Draco would have raged, but his guilt over the headmaster's death kept his voice low and pained. “But … I can’t be Gryffindor.”

Dumbledore nodded and for a moment Draco hoped he would overrule the sorting hats nonsense. “Not an easy path for you, but let’s wait until your feet are on it before we make any hasty decisions about what you can and cannot do.”

The hat comes off Draco’s head. He looks up to see McGonagall putting it to the side. There was more sympathy in her expression than Draco has seen the whole time he was in school the first time around.

Somehow Draco drags himself off of the chair. From the Slytherin table his old housemates are watching him, Crabbe and Goyle, Blaise and Pansy. Taking a deep breath, Draco squares his shoulders and heads for the Gryffindor table. People slid aside and there was a hole made for him with space on either side. He does not meet any of their eyes. He sits. No one says a word. The applause that follows every sorting was weak and half-hearted. 

Then McGonagall calls the next name

Draco sits with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. He had already abandoned the idea of writing to his father and was trying to compose the letter to his mother in his head when Potter’s name was called. He had not looked up for the last sortings and he did not look up for this one. He does not look up when Potter was sorted Gryffindor. It was not like THAT was a surprise. So when a small body plops down next to him he jumps.

“Hi,” Harry said with a smile, as though they do this all the time.

“Potter,” Draco said, trying to gather his wits.

The smile disappears. “You called me Harry before.”

Draco looks at him for a minute, the whole world a riot of confusion. Then shrugs. Of all the things wrong with his world the fact that Harry wants him to use his first name was so minor it was not currently even rating. He goes with it. “Sorry, Harry.”

“Having a rough day?” And it was so much like their first conversation, such a complete understatement that Draco could not help but laugh.

“Yes. I am having another rough day.”

Harry nods. “Friends help,” he said, his head down, peering out at him from under his lashes.

It takes Draco a minute to realize what Harry was saying. His response was more stunned than anything. “Are you offering?”

Harry nods and smiles and holds out his hand. “Friends?”

Draco stared at that hand. There was no way that was real. He looked back up at Harry’s face. It was earnest and calm and happy. He meant it, Draco was stunned to realize and was moving to take the hand before he had finished the thought.

“Friends,” he confirms.

Weasley gets sorted and scoots in next to Harry. Harry tries to introduce them to each other as Draco and Ron. Ron calls him Malfoy and he calls him Weasley. Harry just smiles at both of them and Draco admits it could be worse. Weasley shoots Draco several suspicious looks over Harry’s head that Draco magnanimously ignores as they sing the school song. And then they eat.

Watching Harry Potter eat was a revelation. Draco had never seen a hungry man eat, but the raw edge of desperate happiness on Harry’s face cuts him to the core. Weasley matches him bite for bite, but it was obvious that for him it was the natural appetite of a growing boy. Harry eats like he knows what it was to be hungry and that spoils Draco’s appetite.

“What’s the matter, Malfoy. Too good to eat with us,” one of the older boys taunts breaks into Draco’s thoughts. It was not unexpected. Draco longs to snap back, or stick up his nose but the years of having no family pride to fall back on had broken him of those habits. 

As the adult in Draco struggles to respond Harry jumps to his feet in his defense. “Leave him alone”

“Harry, don’t. He’s not worth it,” Ron hisses, trying to pull him back down into his seat.

“I don’t like bullies,” Harry declares loud enough that the whole table hears it.

“His family are the bullies, Harry.” Fred, or was it George Weasley said. “If you don’t like bullies you should stay away from him.”

“What has he done to you?” Harry demands of the older Weasley twin. The twin lowers his head. “Any of you?” He looks around. “You’re judging him because of his family.” Draco looks around. Every head at the table was down, staring at their food. A strange feeling floods Draco’s chest that he cannot identify. No one had ever stood up for him like that before.

Harry dropped down in his seat again and started eating as though nothing had happened. 

Ron Weasley looks around Harry and glares at him. “You better be worth all of this Malfoy.”

Draco picks up a roll and smiles back at him. “Not sure if I am or not, but I’ll tell you this, I’m not too good to eat with you.” Harry laughs as Draco bites into his roll and chews loudly to make his point.

It was much later as they head up to the tower before Draco remembers he still needs to work out how to tell his parents he was sorted Gryffindor. He does not even notice when he starts nervously rubbing the snitch hanging under his shirt.


	5. Life as a Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds himself battling trolls, playing Quidditch and plotting the death of Voldemort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another extremely long chapter. This is my favorite chapter, to be honest, at least so far. My long suffering roommate questioned me on where I chose to break this chapter and start the next one. If you are interested, the reason is that this chapter is about introducing Draco to life as a Gryffindor. Every scene is specifically about his adjustment to being in that house, including the last one. The next set of scenes takes us off to a new topic. So while there is a lot that ties the last scene of this chapter and the first of the next together, it still seemed like a good breaking point to me. I would be very interested in opinions on whether or not that works if anyone has them.

The Gryffindor tower dorms were horrid, way too bright and exposed. The Prefects were never going to be open to either the bribery or blackmail Draco had planned for getting out at night, which was a disaster. Above all that, the absolute worst thing about the towers was the noise. Every sound echoed through the ancient stones, amplifying it and reverberating it back at them. 

Draco stares down at his bed at the end of the room against the wall. At least he had a defensible position. He could not help rubbing his head in frustration at the whole situation. 

By the time Draco had cleaned himself and dressed for bed, most of the other boys had their bed curtains drawn and the snoring had already started. Walking past Ron, he noticed that the redhead had pulled some of his pillow stuffing out and put it in his ears. Clever, Draco had to admit, even if it did look ridiculous. 

Harry, in the bed between Draco and Ron, was wide eyed and a bit panicked looking. “How are we supposed to sleep?” Harry whispers.

“What?” Ron asked loudly enough that several boys on their end of the room shushed him. 

The area effect silencing spell, like the individual silencing charm, was a fifth year spell. No doubt the older boys had already cast it and if the Gryffindors are anything like the Slyterins there would be an offer to do so for the younger students at a ‘reasonable fee’ once several nights have left them in a desperate state of sleep deprivation. 

Draco himself wracked up a nice set of IOUs his last few years at Hogwarts by selling an area effect silence spell cast on the item of the purchasers choice. The effect could then be toggled on and off with a simple non-verbal command. It was one of the spells he had cast on his own trunk before ever leaving the Manor. There were real advantages to having his adult magic as a first year.

He stopped at the end of Harry’s bed and looked. One thing he knew for sure was that Harry Potter could take care of himself … and yet … Draco sighed. Harry had stood up for him today, had reached out and asked to be friends. The former Slytherin could not help feeling like he owed him something for that. 

Draco pulled his wand out and waved Harry over. Harry knee walked his way across the bed until he was directly across from where Draco was standing. Ron pulls the fluff out of his ears and joined them. The hair of the three boys, black, red, and white-blond are almost touching over Harry’s trunk. “You can’t tell anyone,” Draco insists and the other two nod with a serious earnestness that only eleven year old boys can achieve. Quietly Draco casts the spell. The cherry wood wand whips through the air with a joyful ease that Draco was still getting used to.

“What did you do?” Harry whispers.

“Here, do this,” Draco shows him the hand motion to activate it. Harry repeats the motion slowly and suddenly all the sound around them disappears.

“Blimey,” Ron said.

“It only affects the area right around your bed. You turn it off the same way,” Draco instructed him. The smile on Harry’s face would rival the brightness of the sun. The fact that Draco had not been paid suddenly did not seem as important.

“Come do mine! Come do mine!” Ron grabs Draco by the hand and pulls him towards his own bed.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Draco reminds him and Ron nods so hard it looks like his head will come off.

Being sorted into Gryffindor was still a disaster, but maybe there are a few perks.

oOo

Draco was not quite sure how he became friends with Harry. What seemed an impossible task in his first life happens almost without his involvement the second time around. He was actively avoiding calling anyone a Mudblood or blood traitor, no matter how tempting it was at times. And when the “older” boys harassed him, he would force himself to take a few deep calming breaths before responding. Usually that would be enough for either Harry or Ron to come to his defense. Could that have been all it took to be Harry’s friend or was there something else going on that he was missing?

While Draco had no idea how he became Harry’s friend, Ron was easy. The key to that boy’s heart was through his stomach. It only took a day or two of listening to Ron complain about being hungry before Draco had a plan. It was a minor issue to smuggle a few of the more easily transportable food items into his bag at every meal. Whenever Ron would complain about being hungry or bored or … really it was just those two, but they both came up a lot … Draco would plop something down in front of him. Ron would happily fill his mouth, Draco would bask in the quiet and Harry would smile at Draco like he hung the moon.

The unexpected benefit to becoming Ron Weasley’s friend was that the Weasley’s were related to all of the Gryffindors in the same way that the Malfoys were related to all of the Slytherins. When Ron started actively defending him everyone else backed off … well, except for his brothers. The attention of Fred and George did change from suspicious to fond harassment. Draco was trying to decide if that was an improvement. 

Harry insisted on sitting next to Draco in every class. That worked out well for Draco as ‘The Boy Who Lived’ tended to claim the attention of the teachers, which left Draco free to concentrate on the letter he was still composing to his parents. He was pretty sure Hermione Granger figured out he was not over there studiously taking notes when he crumpled up the fourth draft of the letter to his mother and shot it into the trash behind McGonagall’s back. She opened her mouth to speak but he was back to scribbling on parchment before McGonagall turned back around. 

Granger glared. 

“Ms. Granger, did you want to recite the restrictions on having an Animagus form?”

“I am sure Malfoy wanted to share, Professor,” Granger said with a pious look.

McGonagall’s expression was less than impressed as she looked back and forth between the two of them. “Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco looked up and met her eyes calmly. “You must only have one Animagus form and it must be registered with the Ministry of Magic.”

“Very good, Mr. Malfoy. Ms. Granger, please pay attention and stop harassing Mr Malfoy.”

“Yes ma’am.” Granger said looking back down at her desk.

After class, Granger bumped up against him as they were filing out. “How did you know that?” she hissed.

“I studied,” Draco said primly.

“You are never in the library!” 

That was true, but first year wasn’t exactly difficult when he had already graduated from his senior year as one of the top of his class. 

Draco used the library time to sneak around looking for the Vanishing Cabinet. He needed a way out of Hogwarts if he was going to get the other Horcruxes. It had finally occurred to him that first year was before Peeves dropped it and broke it which means this time he did not have to fix it. The problem was, he had no idea where Peeves had gotten it from originally and he was forced to do a room by room search for the bloody thing. 

It was a big castle.

Draco was saved from having to respond by Ron pushing in between them. “Stop picking on Draco,” he said with a glare. 

The strangeness that was Draco’s life. He could not believe he was being defended by Ron Weasley against Hermione Granger, his future wife. Still off kilter, Draco kept his mouth shut as Harry came up on his other side like a military escort and the two boys glared at Granger until she flounced off. 

Strangely satisfying.

In contrast the final draft of the letter to his mother was humbling. He begged. His father could not find out he was sorted Gryffindor. It would come out eventually, but right now he had enough issues. 

Draco’s love for his mother was eternal. Her response was simple. “I will always support you.”

oOo

Heading to Potions Friday morning seemed weirdly normal in a way nothing else had. He was halfway there before he remembered that the Slytherins would be there as well. Draco had managed to avoid anyone from his old house the first week, sure they had more reason than the Gryffindors to make his life miserable. It was not until he was seated with Harry and Ron carefully on either side of him that he remembered that someone else had a reason to be dreading Potions class.

Draco never did find out what the issue was between Professor Snape and Harry Potter was his first time through Hogwarts. No one mentioned it in his reading and it never seemed relevant. Protecting Harry from Snape this time through was not even a question. One week into school and Harry had more than earned Draco’s protection. 

But how? He had only moments before Professor Snape would stride into class.

The only spell that came to mind was one Draco had learned specifically because it had been used to make the original Harry Potter's life miserable. Dolores Umbridge’s Black Quill spell was a work of diabolical genius. She had used it to turn an ordinary disciplinary action of copying down words into a medieval torture session as the words were carved into Harry’s skin as he wrote. 

The spell itself had turned out to be a combination of a very old duplication spell and several parts of a carving spell that had also lent themselves to the Sectumsempra. Draco grabbed his wand and two pieces of parchment. Discarding the carving he cobbled together the rest and with a cringe and a prayer he cast it.

Well… it didn’t blow up.

“What are you doing!?” Harry hissed.

Draco grabbed the top parchment and slapped it down on Harry’s desk. “Don’t write on that,” he warned just as Professor Snape banged through the door.

Severus Snape's introductory speech was every bit as moving the second time. For a few brief moments Draco found himself caught back up in the magic of potion making under his favorite Professor. It was only when Professor’s eyes slid over him as though he was not there that he remembered he was not the young Slytherin he once was. 

Snape approached. He had spotted Harry, who was staring down at the page Draco slapped in front of him.

Draco leaned over to Ron. “When he asks a question, distract him,” he whispers.

“What?” Ron asks, still staring in horror at their approaching doom.

“Distract him,” Draco hisses.

“Harry Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” It’s a nasty question, one Draco himself would have struggled with until at least his fourth or fifth year.

Draco was writing the answer before Professor Snape even finished getting the whole thing out. He can hear Granger’s arm shoot up on the other side of Harry. ‘Please, please, please’ he thinks to himself.

It was almost like they had rehearsed it. Ron slides his bag off the table and scrambles loudly after it. Snape's eyes track over to Ron just long enough for Harry to glance down at the words that have suddenly appeared on the parchment in front of him.

“Potter!” Professor Snape demands and Harry’s head snaps back up to meet his gaze. 

“Ah… I believe that would be the … uhh ...” Harry glanced at Draco who gave him the tiniest nod back. “... the Draught of Living Death sir?”

Professor Snape’s eyes narrow at the three of them. Three sets of eyes gaze back, Harry’s green, Draco’s grey, and Ron’s blue, wide and innocence. It was in this moment Draco knows the true value of friends, of standing in a line knowing those at your side will have your back, right or wrong. It was a heady experience.

“Pay attention.” Snape snaps at them and then storms back up to the front of the class.

It was a beautiful moment, even if Draco does say so himself.

oOo

Every time Draco opened his trunk, he pushed his hand deep to touch the diary in the bottom hidden pocket. It was the last thing he did before he closed the trunk for the evening and the first thing he did in the morning when he opened it. Saturday morning he was up at the same time as normal. Harry’s curly black hair was all that was visible of his friend, and the only indication of Ron’s existence was the lump in the middle of the bed. Draco rolls his eyes at the two lazy gits but did not disturb them. He opened his trunk and as normal, he reached for the diary … and reached … and dug … and pulled out the clothes … and books … and everything else.

It was not there.

No one slept through that.

Later Draco was very glad that Ron and Harry were there to talk the older boys down when he started flinging accusations of theft. He had been doing so well at controlling his temper too.

With the diary missing, Draco took the first opportunity to grab Rowena’s Diadem from the Room of Requirements. He had not planned on grabbing it until later, as it was one of the easiest items to get a hold of now that he lived in the castle, but with the diary missing he did not dare leave it laying around. He did not put it in his trunk, however. 

The good news was that there were plenty of places to hide things in Hagrid's cabin. Fang was not the best guard dog in the world, but a thief would have to be out of their mind to break into that place given Hagrid’s unfortunate habit of making friends with the most deadly of magical creatures. 

Up to this point, the relation between Draco and Hagrid had been a bit strained. Draco was holding a bit of a grudge over several deadly encounters with Hagrids ‘pets’ from his childhood. Storing the Horcruxes in Hagrid’s cabin means he has to get over himself. Hagrid was not so bad once you got to know him, as long as you don’t assume that just because a creature Hagrid has hanging around won’t kill him doesn’t mean it won’t kill you. 

Harry has that super wide smile going on again. Draco is still not sure what that was about.

oOo

Draco was prepared to take a nap, standing up if necessary, during flying class. After spending years on the Slytherin Quidditch team, there was no way basic flying instruction was going to be anything but excruciatingly boring. He was lying on his broom, floating five feet in the air, semi-conscious, when the sound of Neville crashing to the ground and breaking his arm wakes him. Madam Hooch orders him down and threatens all of their lives if they leave the ground. She was not even all the way back inside before he was up in the air getting comfortable.

Harry was up beside him in a matter of moments and Draco smiled at his friend. He was not too proud to admit that Harry really was a natural on a broom. It’s not every child who could get up on their broom first try. Ron takes considerably longer, struggling a lot more than Draco would have expected for someone who grew up in a wizarding household.

The young redhead obviously felt defensive about being the worst at flying of the three and immediately challenged the other two to a race.

“Races are boring,” Draco whined, but with a bit of a smile. He pulls the snitch out from under his shirt. “How about a three way seeker game?”

Ron’s eyes go wide. “That’s a snitch!”

“What’s a snitch?” Harry asks.

Draco sighs. Sometimes Harry’s complete lack of knowledge about ANYTHING was a bit annoying. Draco lets the snitch go and watched it unfurl it’s little wings. “First one to catch it wins,” Draco explains.

Within minutes the three boys were darting all over the courtyard. Ron struggled to keep up, but Draco kept the snitch in a fairly contained area so as not to outrun him. He and Harry darted about with no fear, diving towards the ground at truly breakneck speeds, making hairpin turns and showing off at every opportunity.

McGonagall’s arrival was a bit of a surprise. It shouldn’t have been, but somehow Draco had failed to realize that he and Harry playing ‘Catch the Snitch’ might draw the same sort of attention they had garnered with their more confrontational game of ‘Keep Away’ before. It took Harry prodding him to realize that, unlike the last time when Harry alone was recruited to the Quidditch team, this time the invitation had been extended to BOTH of them. Draco was shocked and then ecstatic. He, himself may even claim the title of ‘Youngest seeker in a century’. He could already taste the accolades rolling in.

It almost made up for being sorted Gryffindor. He was going to get to play Quidditch in his first year. He was no longer the loser who couldn’t keep up with Potter on the Quidditch field. He would be playing with him, working together. They would be unstoppable.

Draco was so excited he almost missed Ron. 

Ron was standing off to the side, head down, shoulders slumped, alone. Everything Draco had done for Ron up to this point was for his own survival. Ron was the tagalong, the one that came with Harry; to Draco he had never been more than that.

Every line of Ron’s body said he knew that he was unimportant, the extra, the one to be left behind when it was convenient. Draco knew what that felt like, when everyone he knew was leaving for the Continent and he had been left behind to fight for his father. He knew what it was to be the outcast. 

The experiences of the past week took on new meaning as Draco looked at Ron, the boy who had helped him save Harry from Snape, the boy who had stood with Harry to defend Draco from the rest of the house when he had been accusing them all of theft, the wide eyed redhead who had been so excited when Draco had given him a silencing spell for his trunk.

“We can’t join the team without Ron.”

It wasn’t even a complete thought before it came out of Draco’s mouth. Ron’s head snapped up at the sound of his name.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall said, “this is not a social club. Quidditch is a very dangerous sport.”

Well, he was committed now. Draco shook his head and stepped back. “We can’t leave Ron behind.”

Ron stepped up to stand beside Draco. McGonagall just shook her head. “Maybe next year, Mr. Weasley.”

Harry hesitated a moment and then stepped back as well. “I guess we can all wait. It’s just one more year.”

Draco wanted to scream. What were they doing?! The titles, the accolades, everything that came from being pulled onto the Quidditch team at such a young age, all of it was slipping through his fingers. He dropped his head and focused on breathing.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, the Gryffindor Quidditch team really could use your help,” McGonagall urged.

Draco refused to look up. His resolve teetered on a knife edge.

“I could be an extra,” Ron offered. “Draco and Harry could train me. I would work really hard.”

Draco peaked up from beneath his lashes. McGonagall looked undecided.

“Please,” Harry said. “They’re my friends. I haven’t had many friends.”

The emotional manipulation was so delicious Draco was surprised Harry had not been sorted Slytherin. That it was the truth only made it that much more impressive.

McGonagall caved like a pack of Exploding Snap cards. “You will use your own time to train him,” she warned, but it was weak at best. All three of the boys nearly dropped to their knees in relief.

They had met with Wood. Harry once again became the ‘Youngest Seeker in a Century’, Draco was added to the Chaser line up and Ron was put in the dubious care of his older brothers as a backup beater. The three boys agreed to an extra practice schedule that, quite frankly, they all needed; it had been a few years since Draco had been on a Quidditch pitch and never as a Chaser.

Walking back to the castle, Ron bumped shoulders with Draco. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

Draco smiled. “Friends?”

Ron nodded. “Friends.”

oOo

Draco collapsed outside the Room of Requirement. He was exhausted. Extra practices with Ron and Harry had eaten into his searching time. With that and all of the homework that Draco still had to complete no matter how well he knew the material, he was running himself ragged. Not to mention he was no closer to finding Tom Riddle’s diary than when he first noticed it gone. Despite all his work, Draco felt further behind now than when he got to Hogwarts.

He banged his head back against the wall . “I just wish I could find the bloody Vanishing Cabinet already!”

Despite not having executed the steps needed to open the Room of Requirement, the door suddenly appeared and creaked open. Hesitantly Draco rolled towards the opening. The Vanishing Cabinet stood in the center of the empty room.

He couldn’t not help himself. He laughed. Tears ran down his face as he laughed and laughed and laughed. He laughed so hard he couldn’t breath.

“Draco!” Harry and Ron were there on either side of him and their worried faces only set Draco off again. He laughed as his two friends leveraged him up. Down the corridor they carried him towards their dorms and the breath stealing guffaw turned into hysterical giggles. By the time they reached the Fat Lady portrait, Draco had composed himself enough to wipe away the tears.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked as they led him past the common room into the boys dorm.

Draco collapsed on his bed. “I think I’m tired,” he mused. The understatement of a lifetime … this lifetime anyway.

Harry wrapped the covers around him from either side rather than pulling them back, the heathen. Draco was too tired to protest. “Sleep.” It was such a fantastic idea that Draco did exactly that.

Hours later Draco opened his eyes. Why was he awake? He rolled his head to the side. It was dark. There was Harry, and past him Ron. The snoring was a low rumble in the background. Draco blinked. Why was he hearing snoring? Why was his silencing spell not activated? It took him a minute to remember. The Vanishing Cabinet. He smiled. Finding the cabinet was a good thing.

He really should get under his covers properly. He really should change into his pajamas. 

He did not want to move. 

His mind wandered. He wasn’t completely conscious. Something had woken him up. Was it the snoring? Doubtful. He lifted his head. 

The dorm room door was open. That was odd. Was that odd? Draco was pretty sure that was odd. A movement by Ron’s bed caught his eye. What was that? Draco squinted. A rat. There was a rat climbing onto Ron’s bed. Was that a problem? No. Scabbers. It was Ron’s pet Scabbers.

He almost gasped, locking it down behind his teeth by sheer will. Scabbers! Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew! He was the man who had betrayed Harry’s parents. How had Draco forgotten? It must have been Peter Pettigrew that had stolen the diary. The thought on the heels of that realization made Draco’s blood run cold. If it WAS Pettigrew then Voldemort had the diary!

Draco forced himself not to move. Terror flooded his system and he wanted to run. Somehow in the Quidditch practices and enjoying his new friends he had forgotten about the reality of Voldemort being here at Hogwarts. The whole thing seemed so distant and removed, like somehow he was protected, hidden away from the view of the Dark Lord that had stalked his home and terrorized him and his family. 

If Pettigrew had stolen the journal, then Voldemort had to be aware of him, maybe even knew what he was doing. That thought scared him all the way down to his bones. 

The first light of dawn found Draco still awake and hurrying to get out before anyone else woke up. He needed time to think.

Harry was a pest the whole day. No matter how Draco tried to pull into himself to fret and panic in peace, his friend was there to ask what was wrong and to try and pry him out of his head. It was frustrating and annoying and completely successful in distracting Draco from his fears. 

Draco has never felt more grateful. 

Harry was so caught up in trying to get Draco to tell him what was wrong and the ex-Slytherin in trying to avoid the issue that they both missed the drama between Ron and Hermione. That was until the troll.

“Hermione’s where?” Harry demands.

“She was just being so annoying!” Ron was still trying to explain.

“Oh Merlin,” Draco rolled his eyes.

“It’s not my fault!” Ron grumbled.

“Come on,” Harry said, and darted away from the main body of students into an empty corridor.

“Wait!” Draco hissed after him. “You cannot possibly be thinking that we should go after her!”

“There’s a troll!” Harry said

“Exactly!” Draco said grabbing onto his rob. “We should tell a teacher.”

“What teacher?”

Draco looked about which gave Harry the chance to pull out of his grip and head off down the hall.

“Harry!” Draco demanded and ran after him.

“This is so not my fault.” Ron said, following behind.

oOo

The troll was stupid. Big, but stupid.

“Three students should not have been able to take down a troll.” Draco grumbled, still trying to shake the snot out of his robes.

“Four!” Hermione squawked. 

“You don’t count.” Draco sayed. “You were the reason we were here in the first place.”

“That’s fair,” Ron nodded. Ron siding with Draco against Hermione was still one of the strangest things ever.

“Now wait a second, you don’t get to complain about me when you are doing your shifty disappearing act every day. If anyone shouldn’t count it’s you.” Hermione waved her finger at Draco.

“I don’t disappear every day!” Draco protested.

“You really do,” Harry said, the traitor.

Draco glared at him. 

“Not that it is shifty!” Harry back peddled. “But, … I mean … if there is something you are doing that we could help with .... we are your friends.”

“I am not helping you do anything that will get us in trouble.” Hermione proclaimed.

“Like taking on a troll,” Draco snarked back.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but could not seem to decide on a response.

“Whatever you are doing, I just want to help,” Harry said again.

“Me too!” Ron said, probably just to annoy Hermione.

“Look, Harry is great, and Ron is alright when he is not being a prat, but I don’t trust you.” Hermione said. “I know you are up to something.”

Draco looked at the three who had taken down Voldemort the first time and could not come up with a single good reason not to tell them. “I’m trying to kill Voldemort,” he said and slumped down along the wall to the ground.

“What?” Hermione said.

“What?” Harry said.

“I did not see that coming.” Ron shook his head as though to clear out his ears.

“I am trying to kill Voldemort.” Draco said again louder.

“He’s already dead.” Hermione protested.

“I’m pretty sure he’s not.” Harry disagrees.

“He’s not.” Draco said definitively. “He’s alive. He’s here at Hogwarts and trying to get the Sorcerer’s Stone that Dumbledore hid up in the third floor corridor beneath the Cerberus.”

“What’s a Cerber…” Harry struggled to wrap his mouth around the strange word.

“Three-headed dog,” Hermione answered. “How do you know?”

Now that was definitely not something Draco was telling them. He crosses his arms defensively. “I just do.” It was the most juvenile thing he had said in a long time but he was eleven and he might as well take advantage of it.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. Draco raised his chin and glared back.

“That’s awesome,” Harry said. “How can we help?”

“That’s insane!” Ron said. Harry glared at Ron. “ … but … we’ll help, of course.”

Harry smiled that sunshine smile at him and then turned to look at Hermione.

“I want to know how he knows! What if he is making it up?” Hermione protested.

“Draco does not make things up.” Harry said, and there was no arguing with him when he used that tone. “Besides, it fits. I bet it was him who broke into Gringotts at the beginning of the year just after Hagrid and I were there.”

Draco nodded. “It was. That’s where the stone was until Hagrid moved it.”

“But how do we KNOW?” Hermione insisted.

Surprisingly enough it was Ron who answered. “Why else would they have a three-headed dog guard?” 

It was an excellent question.


	6. All Draco’s Cards on the Table… Almost.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting with Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the four children where Draco reveals everything. Well... almost everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More polish. Nothing major changes. Enjoy!

It was the arrival of Professors McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell that ended the argument. Suddenly Draco could come up with a perfect reason he should have kept his mouth shut when Hermione marched up to the three Professors and Draco could just see her spilling everything right there in front of Quirrell. He couldn’t help his sigh of relief when she grabbed McGonagall’s sleeve and pulled her to the side leaving Professor Snape to lecture them on disobeying the instructions to stay with the other students. Quirrell just stood there looking constipated. It was his normal expression. As rescuing Hermione had not been his idea in the first place Draco just kept his mouth shut, his head down and one eye on Quirrell.

Professor Snape was absolutely the last person you wanted dressing you down for misbehavior. By the time he was done, both Draco and Ron looked like they would never again dare put a toe out of line. Harry was glaring back defiantly, but then Harry always was a bit stupid when it came to self preservation.

That’s when McGonagall came back to rescue them. Well, Draco really.

“Come along Mr. Malfoy. The Headmaster would like to have a word with you.”

Hermione was standing by her side looking a bit wide-eyed. Draco guessed that McGonagall had confirmed (probably unintentionally) enough of what Draco had said that Hermione was convinced. Not that it would save Draco from the horror of the meeting to come. He really should have kept his mouth shut. 

Draco started down the hall and Harry immediately fell into step next to him with Ron bringing up the rear. Hermione was left standing in the hall staring after them next to Professors Snape and Quirrell who were both staring down at the troll.

“Where do you two think you are going?” McGonagall demanded.

“With Draco,” Harry said cheerily. 

“No, you are not.” McGonagall said definitively.

“Right,” Draco sniped. “Because this has nothing to do with Harry. It’s not his life on the line at all. I mean it makes perfect sense to keep him completely in the dark.”

“What do you know about…” McGonagall cut herself off. “He’s a child. You’re all just children. You shouldn’t be involved with this at all.”

“Great,” Draco said, “I’ll just head back to the tower then, shall I?” Not waiting, he turned and started off in the opposite direction. Two steps later he heard a muttered spell and his feet were off the ground. Turning his head he met McGonagall's glare with as blank an expression as he could manage. 

There was a lot of glaring going on today.

“Very well,” she eventually huffed. She had apparently already figured out that where one went, the other two followed. Draco was put back on his feet and he, Harry, and Ron headed off after McGonagall. A few steps later Hermione joined them.

“I thought you didn’t want to help,” Draco grumbled at her.

“Changed my mind,” she said with a cheerful shrug.

oOo

Of course Dumbledore starts out with the one piece of information Draco was the least excited about sharing. “Please tell us how you know Voldemort is here at Hogwarts.”

“Is he here at Hogwarts? Do we know that for sure? If he is, why haven’t the student’s been sent home. Isn’t that dangerous?” Hermione demanded.

The Headmaster gave McGonagall a questioning look that obviously translated into something along the lines of ‘What is she doing here?’. 

McGonagall just shrugged.

Dumbledore sighed and ignored Granger. “Draco?”

“I won’t tell how I know,” Draco said folding his arms. “But I’ll tell you what I know.”

“We’ll start there,” Dumbledore conceded.

“Lord You-Know-Who is currently here looking for the Sorcerer's Stone,” Draco began, only to be immediately interrupted by Granger. 

“What is the Sorcerer’s Stone? And why does he want it?”

“That sounds like an excellent research project for you, Ms. Granger,” Dumbledore said with a smile that was too innocent to be believed. “Please turn your findings in to Professor McGonagall before the Christmas break. Now, if that is all, we would like to hear what Mr. Malfoy has to say.”

Hermione snapped her mouth closed. Even she didn’t want to risk another research project.

“The important part is that he still has not recovered from his encounter with Harry. The only thing keeping him alive is the Horcruxes.”

“Horcruxes?” This time the interruption came from McGonagall, her tone laced with horror. “May the old Wizards and Warlocks preserve us.”

“Are you sure?” The Headmaster asked. “Are you sure he is using Horcruxes?”

Draco nodded.

Harry, obviously fearing his own research project, tentatively raised his hand and asked, “What is a Horcrux?”

“Pieces of Voldemort’s soul,” Draco explained.

“More precisely, a Horcrux is the object a wizard uses to hide a piece of their soul,” Professor McGonagal corrected.

“There are six of them currently … well seven if you want to get technical since he still has one himself. There is another one that he is going to create soon but if we’re fast we won’t have to worry about that one.” Draco continued. “The first four are not too bad.”

He gathered his thoughts and then started going through the list.

“Marvolo Gaunt's Ring. That one is at the Gaunt Shack, there are protection spells there so … a bit of a pain. 

Salazar Slytherin's Locket is at Grimmauld Place, I believe Kretcher currently has it. Not too bad. 

Helga Hufflepuff's Cup which is in my crazy aunt’s vault. I think I’m still listed as her heir and have access to that.

Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem. I’ve already got that one and have it hidden away.

Then there is Tom Riddle Diary. I had that one but … I think Ron’s rat stole it. And if he did, then Voldemort has it for sure.”

At least his audience waited until he ran through the whole list before they started talking over each other. Questions of how he knew, and requests for specifics all tumbled on top of each other. It took Dumbledor several minutes to get the room sorted.

“We are going to skip asking again how you know and if you are sure for now. You seem to have a pretty solid set of facts to just be guessing. We’ll move right on to…”

Which was when Ron interrupted again. “... why do you think my rat stole something?”

Dumbledor sighed but then nodded.

“You’re rat is an Animagus named Peter Pettigrew. He was a friend of Harry’s parents but then betrayed them to Voldemort which is how he knew where to go to kill them. Of course the brilliant part of that plan was the framing of Harry’s Godfather Sirius for the crime.”

“I have a Godfather?” Harry asked, almost coming up off his chair.

“Sirius Black. He’s in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit.” Draco confirmed

“Albus,” McGonagall breathed out in horror but her expression was nothing compared to Harry’s.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at Draco. “Can you prove it?”

“That Ron’s rat is Pettigrew?” Draco willfully misunderstood. “Surely that wouldn’t be hard to prove.”

“I was referring to your claim that Sirius Black did not betray Lily and James Potter to Voldemort,” Dumbledore clarified.

“Catching Pettigrew would be a good first step.” Draco tossed back. “Plus you can’t honestly tell me you believed it was him all these years.” 

“Merlin,” Ron breathed. “Is it true?”

“How do you know this?” Hermione asked again. Everyone ignored her this time.

“Minerva, when we are done here, see what you can do about detaining Mr. Weasley’s pet for questioning,” Dumbledore instructed and she nodded.

“But what about Sirius?” Harry demanded. “We can’t just leave him in Azkaban! He is all that is left of my family.”

“If Sirius is innocent, he will be liberated,” Dumbledore assured Harry. “But the most important task is finding and retrieving the Horcruxes. Dealing with Voldemort must be the first priority.”

“But he is all that is left of my family!” Harry protested.

“And that will not change. You must be patient Harry.”

Harry did not look convinced, crossing his arms and slumping back in his chair. Dumbledore turned his attention back to Draco. “You said there were six Horcruxes but you only mentioned five. What is the sixth?” 

Draco glanced at Harry before shaking his head. “No, that’s enough for now. We’re going to need the Gaunt's Ring in any case, or maybe the Sorcerer’s Stone would work. Anyway, that’s enough for now. I’m not telling you anything else.” It was not the time to tell them about Harry. The poor guy looked upset enough.

Draco and Dumbledore had a bit of a stare down while the others shifted nervously in the quiet. Finally the old Headmaster got to his feet. “I will go retrieve the ring then.”

“Albus, surely you are not going to leave while Voldemort is here in the castle.” McGonagall protested.

“At this moment we only have Draco’s word for that, and if he is unwilling to reveal his source …” Draco shook his head when Dumbledore caught his eye. “... then we must proceed cautiously but without taking extreme measures until further proof presents itself.”

“But Albus …”

Dumbledore patted her shoulder as he passed but did not stop as he headed for the office door.

“Headmaster!” Draco called after him. Dumbledore did stop then, his hand on the door. “Don’t put the ring on.”

The old Wizard nodded and left.

oOo

On the way back to Gryffindor tower, it was Ron who broke the silence. “There is one thing I still don’t understand.”

“One thing?” Hermione says in disbelief.

Ron ignores her. “If you already have all the Horcrux thingys that are at Hogwarts, where have you been sneaking off to after class every day?”

“Oh, I was looking for the Vanishing Cabinet.”

“To get out of Hogwarts!” Ron said, putting it all together.

“Wait a second! What’s a Vanishing Cabinet and more importantly, how do YOU know about it?” Hermione asked Ron.

Draco was grateful to not be the one under the inquisition and had no problem letting Ron answer.

“There are two of them. One in Hogwarts and the other comes out at …” Ron slows down as he tries to think.

“Borgin and Burkes,” Draco supplied.

“Right!” Ron agreed. “My brothers have been looking for it every year. It completely gets around the wards in the castle. You can sneak out and no one will notice.”

“I found it last night.” Draco volunteered.

“Is that why you were laughing?” Harry asked, sounding confused.

“It was in a rather obvious place. I had been searching for it since the beginning of school. It was either laugh or cry.”

oOo

The next morning Harry was missing. It was Saturday so neither Draco nor Ron really noticed until breakfast.

“Was he in bed when you woke up?” Ron asks.

Draco shook his head. He leaned over to call down the table. “Hermione! Have you seen Harry?”

She picked up her food and moved down next Ron. “You lost him?”

“He’s not on a leash.” Draco protested.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Professor McGonagall was missing too.” She points to the missing seat. With McGonagall and Dumbledore gone, the teachers table looked pretty sparse. “Do you think he snuck out?”

“Of the castle?” Draco asked.

“To see Sirius,” Ron said in dawning realization.

Draco slapped his forehead. “Through the Vanishing Cabinet.”

Hermione wiggled closer. “He was pretty upset about Sirius being in Azkaban last night. Are you sure he’s not a criminal?”

“Harry is not a criminal.” Draco said. Hermione must be getting used to his strange sense of humor because all she does is roll her eyes. “Positive. That doesn’t mean I wanted Harry making a trip to Azkaban to see Sirius by himself.”

“Do you think they’ll even let him in?” Ron asked.

Draco shrugged.

“Probably,” Hermione said. “He’s Harry Potter. Bet they’ll let him in just because of that.”

“Should we go after him?” Ron leaned forward to whisper.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Hermione said, shrugging.

“They are not going to let us in,” Draco said. He decides not to mention that Sirius broke himself out of Azkaban when he heard that Harry needed him. “If McGonagall has already gone after…” Draco trailed off as the Professor hurried into the Great Hall with a very familiar figure following after her. “Father,” he breathed, rising to his feet.

Both adults stopped in front of him. “Draco, come. We are leaving,” Lucius Malfoy said, head held high and tone that allowed for no argument.

“Leaving?” Draco cast a panicked glance at Ron and Hermione as he scrambled over the bench to his feet.

“Mr. Malfoy, may I reiterate that this is highly irregular, not to mention disruptive, to pull a student out of his classes in this manner.” Professor McGonagall protested.

“I have no intention of leaving my son here, being forced to associate with those less worthy of his attention.” Lucius’ condescending stare fell on Hermione and Ron. 

Draco struggled not to groan aloud.

“Father, perhaps …”

Lucius held out his hand. “Draco, come.”

There was nothing else Draco could do. Not daring to meet anyone’s eyes, he took his place at his father’s side, shadowing him out of the building.


	7. A Father’s Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry comes to save Draco, he has to make a decision about whether or not to be the good son or part of the rebellion against Voldemort and all he stands for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alert! Alert! Major changes here! This chapter just got massively shorter.
> 
> In going back through it I realized I really rushed the ending the first time around. I feel like I didn't stay true to my characters or to the realities of the world in an effort to wrap it up. So, I'm pulling all of that out. I'll re-post the original ending as a stand alone post so if you are looking for something to wrap up the original story (which I am warning you now was mainly about Draco trying to save his father) go check out that ending.
> 
> The new ending will still wrap up the original premise of Draco trying to save his dad, but in a much more satisfying way, or at least I think so. I will also finish out the rest of the story threads that I played with getting this far.
> 
> I will be posting a chapter a week on that one until I am done. Not 100% sure how long it is going to be because I haven't broke it up into chapters just yet, but I've got the whole thing mapped out I just need to finish writing it.
> 
> Again, if you are looking for a complete story bail here and go check out the original ending. This is ending on a cliff hanger while I work to finish the whole thing in a much more satisfying way. Good? Yes? No? Good.

“You should have informed me as soon as this happened,” Lucius started lecturing before they made it off the grounds. “I expect you to maintain the high nobility of the Malfoy name, and when that name is threatened by such an indignity as being incorrectly sorted, it is mandatory that you reach out for assistance immediately.” 

“Yes, father.”

Apparating to Malfoy Manor did not even slow him down. “To think that my son would be forced to suffer the indignity of dealing with Mudbloods and blood traitors. It is unacceptable.”

“Yes, father.”

It went on like that all the way up to his father’s office. By the time they walked in the door, Draco was nodding along mindlessly, not even listening. It was the sight of Tom Riddle’s diary sitting on the desk that pulled Draco out of the fog of disassociation.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, meeting his father’s gaze for the first time since they left the Great Hall.

“You are not returning to Hogwarts,” Lucius said, emphatically.

Draco reached out and touched the diary, trying to piece together how it could have come back into his father’s possession.

“Voldemort sent it to you,” Draco guessed.

“Refer to him as Lord Voldemort, if you please,” his father corrected, avoiding the bigger issue.

“Did he threaten you?”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Lucius said.

A moment’s thought and then Draco asked, “Did he threaten me?”

Lucius swallowed carefully before attempting to answer which was enough confirmation for Draco.

“You can’t let him order you around.”

“You are not returning to Hogwarts,” Lucius turned away. “I have already contacted Durmstrang. They are properly excited to have a student from such a prestigious background and will make all the adjustments necessary due to your late entry.”

“You are sending me to Russia!? What did Voldemort say?”

“This is not up for discussion.”

“Why are you submitting to this? He is one man, not even a man anymore. What could you possibly have to gain?”

“I am protecting the family name from your unfortunate sorting.” Lucius shot back, his perfect calm exterior starting to unravel at the edges.

“This isn’t about me being a Gryffindor and a Malfoy never bows to bullying and threats. Why are you allowing Voldemort to dictate to you?” 

“Because I will not risk you!” 

Draco and Lucius stared at each other across the desk as the shout rang between them. “You are my son,” Lucius said again, quietly, “and I will not risk you.”

It was painful. He needed to stop Voldemort. He needed to help Harry and Ron and Hermione, to be one of them.

It was the knowledge of exactly what he had been willing to sacrifice to protect his family that held his tongue. He could not challenge his father for doing the same.

It was very very painful. 

“Alright, father,” Draco conceded. “I will prepare my things for Russia.” Turning for the door Draco could not resist one final plea. “Father, if Lord Voldemort is willing to threaten me to win your obedience, perhaps you should consider whether or not he is worth following.”

There was no answer and Draco did not expect one.


End file.
